4. Iris
Iris
Two Years Earlier
‘Iris,’ Sam says, entering the twins’ bedroom.
Both girls lie asleep in their individual bassinets and Billy is curled up in my lap on the floor. It’s five o’clock in the afternoon and all the lights are off.
‘Iris,’ he says again. ‘Are you okay?’
I raise my head to meet his gaze and tears fall from my eyes.
‘They reduced his sentence.’
Sam crouches on the floor next to me. ‘I know. But it’ll still be decades before he’s out.’
A sob escapes me and Lara stirs.
‘Shhh, shhh, shhh,’ Sam says, gently rocking her bed.
‘The information he’s given isn’t even helpful. They have no idea who else is behind it all.’
Sam takes Billy off my lap and lifts me so we’re both standing.
‘Honey, why are you in the twins’ room?’
I close my eyes and shake my head.
‘Iris?’
‘I can’t bear not to have them in my sight all the time.’ I release a shaky breath. ‘When the girls sleep, Billy and I sit in here quietly.’
‘And that’s why you’re always out of bed at night too?’
I nod. I thought time would make things easier. It has for Charlotte, and her daughter was the one taken. Why can’t I get past it?
‘Iris, I think it’s time you got some professional help. You need to talk about this.’
I know my husband is right. This is no way to be living. I barely sleep, we rarely leave the house, and I don’t think I’ve showered since Sam’s last day off. But time seeing someone will be time away from the kids, and I’m not sure I can.
‘Okay,’ I say, hoping he believes me.
Present Day
‘Sadie and Lara still have a bottle of milk before bed, and make sure Billy brushes his teeth,’ I say, as I frantically transfer my personal items—lip balm, wallet, keys—from their usual home in the nappy bag to a small handbag.
Sam’s mum, Leanne, smiles and nods. ‘Yes, dear, I know. I’ve had the kids before, remember?’
Of course I remember. Of course I know they’ll be fine.
To be honest the milk and teeth brushing is the least of my concerns.
When you see a friend go through a kidnapping experience, it’s very difficult to leave your children with other people.
It’d taken me a very long time to be comfortable with childcare again.
What I want to say to my mother-in-law is there’s a golf club in the linen press and that she needs to ensure the door locks behind us when we leave.
But I also don’t want to offend the lovely woman doing us a favour.
Leanne moved to Cobal Gully not long after we did.
She lived alone in Melbourne, not far from us in Rosewood, but she was keen to stay close to her grandchildren.
She has a cute little rental, and I’m so grateful she decided to move.
I know some people might want distance between their family and their in-laws but she is one of the few people I trust with the kids.
‘Come on, Iris,’ Sam calls, car keys in hand. ‘We’ll be late.’
I kiss each child on their head and they don’t even notice as I leave.
We’re going to a colleague of Sam’s place for dinner. He’s gotten to know the other officers in the area and wants me to make connections too, so he’s been keen to make sure we could go.
I’m happy to go out and I enjoy socialising, but I had the Parent’s Association meeting last night, and I’m tired. Two nights out in a row is a lot.
The meeting last night had been pretty standard. A few admin issues to discuss and we finalised the plans for the trivia night fundraiser.
‘Did you hear me?’ Sam says from the driver’s seat next to me.
I turn to him. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘I asked if you want me to swing by the bottle shop to get you something to drink.’
‘Oh, yeah. Sure. We should take a bottle of wine anyway to say thank you.’
‘Everything okay?’ Sam asks.
I place a hand on his thigh. ‘Yeah, just tired.’
‘We don’t have to stay late.’
I smile. ‘I’m all good.’
***
We’re the last to arrive at dinner. Alan, a senior constable, and his wife, Juliet, are our hosts, and I’m pleased they’re happy with the bottle of wine we selected.
I’ve seen Juliet at the kindergarten but their child must be in a different group.
The other couple already here is Dean and Melanie, who are both constables.
‘Thanks for having us over for dinner,’ I say to Juliet, as I take a seat at the dining room table.
‘Not at all,’ she says, waving a hand at me. ‘We’ve been wanting to have you all over for a while now. But time gets away, right?’
I nod. ‘Sure does.’
Juliet and Alan place down large serving plates with salads and sauces, different meats and wraps.
‘It’s nothing fancy,’ Juliet says, her face flushing. ‘Taco night. DIY.’
‘Love it,’ Sam says, and I know it’s genuine because Taco Tuesday is his favourite day of the week at our place. He’d have them every day if he could.
I turn to Melanie, who is sitting to my right. ‘Did you and Dean meet at Cobal Gully station?’
She laughs, or more of a giggle, like there’s a story behind it and she’s ready to relay it like a teenager would to a friend.
‘We actually met on one of our placements before we were fully qualified. We had to have an awkward conversation with the academy before they gave us our placements. We knew we wanted to be near each other.’
Dean speaks up next. ‘Yep, near each other. Not working together.’
They both laugh.
‘That’s sweet. Sam and I met during training as well. At the academy,’ I say.
‘Oh, I didn’t know you were a cop too,’ Dean says.
‘Briefly,’ I say, swallowing down my emotions. ‘Things got in the way.’
Sam pats my leg under the table, and I smile at him.
‘Well, dig in,’ Juliet says.
We all fill ourselves up with soft wraps and crunchy tacos. The spread is delicious. Juliet even makes us margaritas to truly get into the spirit.
The conversation is easy and free flowing.
I’m happy for Sam he’s found a decent group of people to work with, even if they all have that gallows humour so many police officers possess.
I sit through stories of the hardest cases they’ve been on and some of the most ridiculous calls they’ve had—my favourite being when Alan was called to a McDonald’s by a man who was outraged they’d run out of chicken nuggets.
To be fair, I’d probably want the person in charge of stock control punished too. Those nuggets are good.
I take a sip of my third margarita, settling back in my chair, and enjoying the warm buzz of the alcohol. Sam tells the group about his old boss at Rosewood, and how he’d never start a shift, morning or night, without a large mug of coffee and a petrol-station sausage roll.
‘Was it hard to leave Rosewood?’ Juliet asks me.
I’d been happily listening to the conversation, knowing I had no war stories to share like theirs, so I’m taken by surprise and stumble over my words—the alcohol not helping my eloquence.
‘Um. No. Yes. I guess so.’
Sam puts a hand over mine and squeezes. ‘We loved Rosewood but it was time for us to have a change of scenery.’
My stomach flips, knowing the basis for his statement. And before I can stop myself, I blurt out, ‘Hey, do any of you know much about the child trafficking ring or the Rosewood arrest?’
My cheeks redden as soon as I say it. This is what happens when you rarely drink. You have a few cocktails and you say silly things.
Sam’s eyes are locked on me, but I avoid eye contact. His look could undo me and send me into a fit of hysterical tears. I’ve just ticked off ‘awkward dinner guest’, I don’t want to add ‘emotional drunk’ to the list.
Alan is the first to answer. ‘Only what’s been mentioned in the news. We understand you guys knew someone who was involved.’
‘Iris, I don’t want to get into it,’ Sam says to me, his voice stern like I’m a student being told off by their teacher. He addresses the table. ‘Iris has found it difficult to move on from what happened in Rosewood. Understandably, of course.’
Something ignites in me then, and now I’m not regretful or awkward. I’m angry.
‘Understandably?’ I say. ‘Of course it’s understandable that I haven’t moved on when the police have arrested one person from a child trafficking organisation. There are other people out there still taking kids, and no one’s doing anything!’
The table is silent.
‘Look,’ I add. ‘I’m sure it’s not on Cobal Gully’s list of priorities. You’re not near Rosewood, so I’m not blaming you lot. But bloody hell, surely you’re as mad as I am.’
‘If we got mad about every injustice,’ Alan says, ‘I don’t think any of us would survive this job.’
There’s a murmur of agreement.
‘I’m sure there are people investigating,’ Melanie adds. ‘But these things can be quite sensitive and time consuming.’
I blink back tears, regret coming over me again.
‘Sorry,’ I say softly. I turn to Sam, and he won’t look at me. Shit.